


Something to Live For

by skywalkersamidala



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, and a healthy dose of pro medici propaganda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 20:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywalkersamidala/pseuds/skywalkersamidala
Summary: Lorenzo has been wrongfully imprisoned and Francesco will do whatever it takes to save him. Even if Lorenzo doesn't approve of his methods.





	Something to Live For

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on Tumblr requested Lorenzo/Francesco in Cosimo and Contessina's situation when Cosimo was imprisoned in s1, and thus this fic was born! I copied a lot of the details from Cosimo's accusation and trial right down to the poison (but minus the usury charges since Jacopo is also a banker so that wouldn't have made much sense) because I wasn't creative enough to think of a much different scenario lmao anyway I hope you enjoy this!

Francesco waited impatiently as the jailer unlocked the cell door. At last it was open, and he stood aside to let Francesco enter. “You have five minutes,” he said as Francesco pushed past him.

But the sight of Lorenzo sitting in the cold, dark cell with his head in his hands stopped him in his tracks. Francesco’s heart gave a painful thump. He had never seen Lorenzo like this before, utterly defeated. Usually he was the first one to look for a solution, the last one to hold out hope.

Lorenzo looked up at his footsteps, surprise crossing his face. “Francesco?” he said, getting to his feet and moving towards him. “What are you doing here?”

“The real question is, what are _you_ doing here?” Francesco asked. “These charges of treason and tyranny, they’re completely unfounded—”

“Are they?” Lorenzo said quietly. “You’ve said yourself that we Medici are tyrants.”

Francesco swallowed, guilt washing over him. “That was…that was before,” he said. Before he’d freed himself from Jacopo’s brainwashing. Before the Medici had accepted him as one of their own, had showered him with more affection than he knew what to do with.

Before he’d realized Lorenzo meant more to him than the entire republic of Florence. Maybe the Medici were tyrants, maybe they weren’t. Francesco didn’t care, not anymore. All he knew was that his lover might be put to death, and he simply couldn’t allow that.

He took a step closer. “You’re trying to do good for Florence,” he said. “And that’s more than can be said for Jacopo and the others who’ve brought this charge against you.”

Lorenzo smiled slightly. “I’m glad _you’re_ on my side, at least.”

“I will always be on your side,” Francesco said softly. “But the rest of the Priori are another matter. Currently it looks like Jacopo has the majority, but I think there are several who could be swayed for the right price—”

“The right price?” Lorenzo interrupted. “What do you mean?”

Francesco raised an eyebrow. “What do you _think_ I mean?”

“I won’t resort to bribery,” Lorenzo said in a low voice so the jailer outside wouldn’t hear. “If I’m to be acquitted, it must be for the right reasons.”

“You can’t be serious—”

“I trust Florence to see the truth and make the right decision on its own.”

“Lorenzo, this isn’t some silly treaty, this is your _life_ at stake,” Francesco said, exasperated by his stubborn idealism.

“And if Florence sees fit to put me to death as a tyrant, then so be it,” Lorenzo said, his tone subdued. “Perhaps it’s what I deserve.”

Francesco’s expression softened, and he reached up to gently touch Lorenzo’s cheek before quickly letting his hand fall back to his side, conscious that the jailer might be watching them. “It is not. You’re a good man,” he said. “The Priori aren’t Florence and you know that. They are merely a group of selfish men who would happily condemn Christ himself to death if they thought it would fill their coffers. The actions of my uncle and his followers don’t speak for the people of Florence. You are their leader, Lorenzo, they need you. Don’t give up, not while there’s still hope.”

“I never thought I’d see the day where _you_ were the optimistic one,” Lorenzo said with a wry little smile. But it quickly faded again. “They don’t need me, because I’m not a tyrant. I’m only one man, and Florence will continue on perfectly well without me.”

“But I won’t,” Francesco said before he could stop himself. _“I_ need you. I can’t lose you.”

Lorenzo took his hand, giving it a brief squeeze and letting go again. “You’ll never lose me,” he said. “Even when I’m gone, I’ll still be with you.”

Francesco took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, taking a step back and putting space between them. “You may have given up, but I haven’t,” he said. “I will see you out of this cell, no matter what it takes.”

“Francesco—”

“If you’ll excuse me, there’s much to do.” Francesco gave him one last, long look before turning and walking out of the cell, his mind already whirling with ideas for how to win over the Priori.

By the time he arrived at the Medici home, he had a plan of action. The whole family hurried into the courtyard as they heard him entering. “How is he?” Lucrezia said anxiously.

“Trying to be a damned martyr,” Francesco said. “He doesn’t want to bribe the Priori, but in my opinion that’s the surest way to get him acquitted.”

“I agree,” Giuliano said. “Jacopo fights dirty, and either we stoop to his level or we lose. So what’s the plan?”

For almost the first time, Francesco felt a certain appreciation for Giuliano. There was very little that they saw eye-to-eye on, but putting Lorenzo’s safety above everything, even their own morality, was one of them.

“You’ll talk to Ardinghelli,” Francesco said. “I’ll go to Vespucci—”

“Let me talk to Vespucci,” Giuliano cut him off.

“So you can see his wife? Now is not the time—”

“Simonetta is…fond of me,” Giuliano said, as if everyone in the room didn’t know they were sleeping together, “so perhaps she can help persuade her husband to vote in Lorenzo’s favor.”

“Or perhaps when he sees how the two of you look at each other, he’ll realize you’re having an affair and become determined to see your family destroyed—”

“Do you really think so little of me, that I would be so foolish as to reveal something in front of—”

“Quiet, the pair of you,” Lucrezia said, giving them each a stern look. “Lorenzo’s life is at stake, we’ve no time for petty squabbling. Giuliano, I know you mean well, but Francesco’s right, sending you to Vespucci is just too risky.”

Giuliano grumbled a bit but conceded the point to his mother where he wouldn’t to Francesco, and Francesco continued spelling out his plan, assigning each Medici a task to accomplish before Lorenzo’s trial the next day. He only prayed it would be enough.

* * *

Francesco drummed his fingers on the table, scanning the room for the thousandth time. As if he could judge just by looking at their faces which Priori members were planning to vote for or against Lorenzo. Giuliano had reported that things had gone well with Ardinghelli, and Vespucci too had promised his support, but Jacopo was looking ominously smug beside him and Francesco was afraid he had some trick up his sleeve, as he always did.

He glanced instead over at the Medici, sitting right at the front of the onlookers’ section. But Lorenzo’s seat amidst the Priori remained empty; they had a quorum without him and hadn’t needed to worry about finding a last-minute replacement. A last-minute _temporary_ replacement, Francesco prayed. By the time the Priori next met, Lorenzo would be back among their ranks and Francesco would be sitting here worried about nothing more serious than whether the lovesick smiles Lorenzo kept throwing him were too obvious.

The doors opened and Lorenzo, his hands bound, was led in by the jailer. The general commotion quieted down, replaced with whispers and murmurs as Lorenzo passed. Francesco looked at him closely, realizing in alarm that he looked ill. He was pale and sweating, squinting against the sunlight streaming in through the windows and clearly having difficulty focusing on anything. Francesco tried to catch his eye, but it was like he was hardly even aware of his surroundings.

The Gonfaloniere called everyone to order. “Jacopo Pazzi accuses Lorenzo de Medici of attempting to make himself a tyrant and thereby committing treason against our republic,” he said, to a storm of booing and hissing. Whether it was for Jacopo or Lorenzo, Francesco didn’t know. “Lorenzo de Medici will now speak in his own defense.”

After a minute’s pause Lorenzo shakily got to his feet, swaying slightly where he stood. “I…” He coughed. “I love Florence. I’m not…not…” Lorenzo squeezed his eyes shut, a pained expression on his face. “Not a tyrant. These charges…these charges are…”

But then he collapsed to his knees, coughing profusely as alarmed mutters broke out. Francesco nearly rose from his seat to go to him, but he restrained himself and instead rounded on Jacopo. “What did you do?” he hissed.

“Me? Whatever do you mean? He appears to have fallen ill,” Jacopo said, smirking. “A manifestation of his guilt, perhaps.”

“He was fine yesterday,” Francesco snapped. “You—you poisoned him!”

“And how am I supposed to have done that, exactly? Really, nephew, your imagination gets the better of you sometimes.”

“We cannot continue if the defendant is not represented,” the Gonfaloniere was saying over the ruckus. “Will anyone speak for him?”

On pure instinct, Francesco got to his feet. “I will,” he said. “I’ll speak for him.”

“Lorenzo de Medici, will you allow Francesco Pazzi to speak for you?”

But Lorenzo was curled up on the floor, half-conscious and whispering deliriously to himself. Francesco ached to rush over to him, to take him in his arms and hold him close, but all he could do was watch helplessly as the jailer made a few unsuccessful attempts to get Lorenzo to respond to the question.

Once it was established that Lorenzo couldn’t answer, the Gonfaloniere waved at Francesco to begin his defense. He took a deep breath, trying to think of what Lorenzo would say. He hadn’t expected to have to defend him himself, had thought Lorenzo’s silver tongue would save the day. Francesco wasn’t nearly so persuasive.

But Lorenzo was counting on him. And Lorenzo, were he not so feverish, would have complete faith that he was capable of doing this. Lorenzo always had faith in him, more than anybody else ever had.

So he began to speak. “Lorenzo is accused of being a tyrant. If that were the case, then would the Priori even be meeting right now?” Francesco said. “If Lorenzo was really a tyrant, how would it be possible for him to be on trial by this republican assembly? If he was a tyrant, surely any dissent against him would have been quelled by now. Yet we can see clearly that it hasn’t been. Our presence here today, gentlemen, is proof itself that our republic is functioning as well as ever and that these accusations of Lorenzo’s tyranny are false.”

Jacopo scoffed. “See how thoroughly Lorenzo has charmed all of us,” he said. “Even my own nephew has fallen under his spell.”

“I’m under no spell,” Francesco said in clipped tones. “How can we accuse Lorenzo de Medici of treason against Florence, when he has done more for Florence than anyone in this room? When he has successfully negotiated an alliance with both Venice and Milan, something none of us thought possible? When he has saved our republic from threats more times than I can count? Yet because of my uncle’s slander and lies, you would turn on the very man who has protected you, who has helped you, who has worked every day for years to help Florence become the great city it was meant to be. Lorenzo has done nothing but work to better Florence, and it is appalling that you can even consider punishing him for this.”

The Priori started muttering amongst themselves, and Francesco tried to keep his hands from shaking. What if he hadn’t spoken well enough? What if he hadn’t convinced a majority of them? What if they voted to put Lorenzo to death, and it was all his fault?

At last, Vespucci got to his feet. “I agree with Messer Pazzi,” he said, looking nervous. “Lorenzo de Medici has been falsely accused.”

“And how much did he pay you to say that?” Jacopo said scathingly.

“I-I beg your pardon?” Vespucci stammered.

“Gentlemen, I have it on good authority that yesterday evening, the Medici together with my nephew went around to several members of the Priori and offered them money to vote in Lorenzo’s favor,” Jacopo said, and everyone started muttering and shaking their heads and throwing baleful glances in Francesco’s direction. “Is this not the behavior of a tyrant?”

“More baseless accusations,” Francesco said calmly. “Do you have any proof?”

But he didn’t need proof. Francesco was a good liar but Vespucci was not; guilt was written all over his face as he quickly sat back down while the rest of the room started getting louder and louder until they were shouting.

“Would an innocent man resort to bribery to be acquitted?” Jacopo called over the noise. “Lorenzo de Medici presents a good-natured face to the world, but it is past time that his true nature and his tyrannical ambitions be revealed for what they are and punished accordingly!”

Francesco desperately looked around the room until he met Giuliano’s eyes. They could not risk voting now, not when it seemed so likely that they would lose. Giuliano gave him a subtle nod and then, while everyone around him was distracted, leaned forward and gave the nearest Priori member a hard shove.

He stumbled into the man next to him, who angrily pushed him back, and within minutes the entire Signoria had descended into a brawl. Francesco went to Lorenzo in the chaos, ducking to avoid flying fists and kneeling down beside him once he reached him. “Lorenzo,” he said anxiously, gripping his shoulders. “Lorenzo, look at me. Please.”

It was with great difficulty that Lorenzo managed to focus on him. “Francesco?” he whispered.

“What happened to you?”

But Lorenzo seemed to have used up the last of his strength, and he passed out in Francesco’s arms.

* * *

Francesco returned to the jail late that night. The good news was that due to the chaos, the Gonfaloniere had adjourned the meeting before a vote could be made. The bad news was that Francesco and the Medici were now out of options. They’d turned the matter over and over for hours, trying to think of what to do next, but had come up with nothing concrete. Finally Francesco had said he’d go to Lorenzo to see if he was more lucid and could think of something that might help them.

Or perhaps he’d come here to say goodbye. To speak with Lorenzo one last time before the Priori voted to execute him tomorrow.

But Francesco stubbornly pushed that thought aside as the jailer, looking oddly guilty, let him into the cell. Lorenzo was curled up on his sleeping pallet, still coughing, but it sounded less harsh than it had at the trial. “Lorenzo?” Francesco said softly, coming to sit beside him.

Lorenzo looked up at him and managed a weak smile. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am.” Francesco tenderly ran a hand through his sweaty and tangled hair. “What happened? Is it really just an illness?”

Lorenzo shook his head and sat up. “Poison,” he said. “The jailer felt badly about it and admitted to me that he’d been paid to slip poison into my cup last night. But just enough to make me temporarily ill, not enough to kill me.”

“I knew it,” Francesco muttered. “Who paid him?”

“A stranger, he said. He just accepted the money without asking questions.”

“If we can trace this back to Jacopo, we can prove to the Priori that he purposely put you at a disadvantage for the trial—”

“Yes. _If_ we can trace it back,” Lorenzo said. “Besides, if it really _was_ him—”

“We both know it was.”

“—then I’m sure he’s been very careful to cover his tracks. It’s useless.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Francesco said. “There’s still hope.”

Lorenzo didn’t answer. After a long moment he said, “What exactly happened at the trial? I can’t really remember.”

Francesco summarized the events for him. “You were accused of bribery,” Lorenzo said when he’d finished.

“Yes.”

“And was it true?”

“It hardly matters—”

“Francesco.”

Francesco lowered his gaze, unable to bear the accusatory look in Lorenzo’s eyes. “It was the best way I could think of to save you,” he said.

“I told you not to,” Lorenzo said, anger seeping into his tone. “I specifically told you I wanted to play fair—”

“Do you think Jacopo is playing fair?” Francesco said, looking back up at him

“Would you have us sink to his level?” Lorenzo retorted. “Would you make me into exactly what he says I am? I will win this trial justly or not at all.”

“Not at all, then,” Francesco said, irritated. “And what a comfort it will be for the rest of us when we bury you, knowing that at least you kept your precious ideals intact.”

“I’d rather die a good man than live as a bad one.”

Francesco snorted. “You’re being an utter fool—”

“And _you’re_ being selfish,” Lorenzo said. “I’m the one on trial here, but you’re only thinking about what _you_ want, about how _you_ can’t bear to lose me—”

“It’s you who’s the selfish one,” Francesco snapped. “You’re thinking about yourself, your ideals, your morals. Not about everyone who will suffer if you die tomorrow. Would you let the people of Florence lose their champion? Would you let your mother lose her son, your siblings their brother? And would you let me lose…”

His voice cracked and he looked away so that Lorenzo wouldn’t see the tears welling up in his eyes. “And you?” Lorenzo said after a heavy pause. “What would you lose?”

Francesco let out a shaky breath. “My whole world,” he said, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

And then Lorenzo was reaching out to him, taking his face in both hands and making him turn back towards him. Francesco couldn’t stop a tear from sliding down his cheek, and Lorenzo gently wiped it away with his thumb.

“I’m not asking you to compromise your morals, only to let _me_ do whatever I can to save you,” Francesco said. “To protect you I’d happily bribe and cheat and lie, and much worse than that too. And that’s a reflection not on you, but on me.”

“I don’t want _you_ to compromise _your_ morals for my sake,” Lorenzo said.

Francesco gave him a watery smile. “I can’t compromise what never existed.”

“Don’t say that. You’re a good man, Francesco. Better than I deserve,” Lorenzo said softly. “But there’s nothing more you can do. It’s in God’s hands now.”

“No,” Francesco said, starting to panic. “No, there must be something else—”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” Lorenzo said. “Now go home. Get some rest.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“You have to, Francesco. It’s over. I’m sorry.”

Francesco was crying openly now, and Lorenzo was still holding him close, and he knew the jailer was probably watching them but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not now. He clung to Lorenzo tightly, as if he could physically prevent him from being taken away from him, and Lorenzo rested his forehead against his.

“Promise me you’ll at least try to defend yourself tomorrow. You may still be able to persuade the Priori members who aren’t in Jacopo’s pocket,” Francesco said. “Promise me. Please.”

“I promise.”

Francesco closed his eyes to try and stem the flow of his tears, and Lorenzo pressed a tender kiss to one eyelid, then the other. “Take care of my family when I’m gone. They’ll need you,” he said, letting go of him.

Francesco wanted to say, _But who will take care of me?_ Instead he only nodded and wiped his eyes. “I will, if it comes to that,” he said. “But it won’t. It _won’t.”_

“We’ll see,” Lorenzo said noncommittally. “Now go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“And many more days after that.”

Lorenzo gave him a sad smile. “I hope so. Goodbye, Francesco.”

“Goodbye.” Francesco could barely choke out the word. He forced himself to stand and walk away, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces.

But the jailer stopped him as he was about to descend the stairs. “Messer Pazzi, I—I could testify tomorrow. Say that I put poison in his cup.”

Francesco stopped in his tracks, startled. “Can you prove who paid you?”

“No,” the jailer said. “But I can prove I poisoned him, I still have the vial. Would it help?”

“It might,” Francesco mused. “But if you can’t prove someone else gave you the poison and bribed you, then it’s possible _you_ could get into trouble.”

“I know,” the jailer said. “I’m willing to risk it.”

Francesco studied him closely. He looked nervous, but sincere. “Why?” he asked.

“Because Lorenzo de Medici is a good man,” he said. “I heard what you said at the trial this morning. It was all true. He’s done nothing but good things for us. Our city is safe because of him. There’s work for us because of him. My family has enough food on the table every day because of him. If I can do anything to repay the debt we all owe him, I want to.”

Francesco smiled slightly. “You’re a far better man than anyone in the Priori,” he said. “Thank you, my friend.”

* * *

“You expect us to believe the word of this jailer?” Jacopo said derisively.

“What reason would he have to lie?” Francesco said.

“I’m sure you paid him, you’ve proved you aren’t above doing so.”

“I doubt any amount of money could have compelled him to implicate himself in the poisoning of a member of the Priori if it wasn’t true,” Francesco replied. “He came forward to speak the truth because his personal moral code demanded it, which is more than can be said for most of the people here.”

Lorenzo met his eyes and raised an eyebrow, a slight grin playing about his lips. Francesco could practically hear what he was thinking. _Persuading the Priori to acquit me by insulting all of them. How very Francesco._

“What I mean to say,” Francesco hastily amended, “is that there is only one man in this room who is making up false accusations and testimony, and it is not this jailer.”

“I assume that is directed at me?” Jacopo said, looking amused.

“You assume correctly.”

“Begging your pardon, Messers,” the jailer interrupted timidly. “But as God is my witness, I swear that I’m telling the truth. I have the vial to prove it, there’s still some of the poison left inside.”

He produced the vial, and everyone leaned in for a closer look. “Poison is not cheap, particularly the kind that comes in such an elegantly-crafted vial. Surely it would have cost more than this man could afford,” Francesco said. “Which means that someone else must have purchased it and then given it to him. Someone wealthy.”

“Or perhaps he stole it,” Jacopo said, but several of the Priori were murmuring to each other and casting doubtful looks in Jacopo’s direction.

Clearly sensing this, he tried a different tack. “I fail to see how this is relevant to the current trial, which concerns Lorenzo de Medici’s attempted tyranny, if you’ll recall.”

“It is relevant because someone bribed Lorenzo’s jailer to slip poison into his drink,” Francesco said. “Not enough to kill him, as that would have been too obvious. Only enough to ensure that he was incapacitated for his trial and unable to speak in his own defense. Someone is so determined to see Lorenzo hang that he would use any means necessary to ensure that he loses this trial. Is it, then, so hard to believe that this person simply invented these slanderous accusations in the first place, purely out of a desire to see Lorenzo dead? Perhaps because Lorenzo is a personal enemy of his, not to mention a business rival?”

The murmurs were growing louder now, the looks at Jacopo even more doubtful. “Before we put it to a vote,” the Gonfaloniere said, “Lorenzo, would you like to speak in your own defense since you did not get the chance yesterday?”

“I would,” Lorenzo said. He looked all around the room as he prepared to speak, his eyes lingering on Francesco.

 _Speak well,_ Francesco urged him silently. _Speak well and save yourself. Save me._

“I am no tyrant. I am only a citizen who loves his city and wants to do all he can to better it. Everything I do is for Florence,” Lorenzo said. “Sometimes I make errors, it is true, sometimes I miscalculate. But I assure you, my intentions are and always have been good. Every choice I make is decided upon with Florence’s best interests at heart. I love our city, our republic, more than anything else in this world. More, even, than my own life. So if you truly feel that my death is in Florence’s best interests, I will not argue. I only want what’s best for this city and her people.”

For a second Francesco wanted to go over there and shake him for being self-sacrificing rather than defensive, but as he noticed the approving looks starting to appear on the Priori’s faces, he realized that that was exactly Lorenzo’s strength. Playing the noble martyr willing to die for the good of his city. How could anyone think him a would-be tyrant in the face of such selfless words?

“And now for the vote,” the Gonfaloniere said. “Gentlemen, are you for or against Lorenzo de Medici’s acquittal?”

Francesco stood first. “For.”

Jacopo followed him immediately. “Against.”

“For,” Soderini said.

There was a slight pause, and then Vespucci got to his feet. “For.”

“He’s been bribed!” Jacopo said angrily.

“I vote to acquit because I do not believe Lorenzo de Medici has tyrannical ambitions,” Vespucci said. “Not because I was given money to do so.”

“I vote for as well,” Ardinghelli said.

The rest of the votes followed quickly. There were several others who voted against, but it soon became clear that they had the majority. Francesco sank back into his seat, relief like nothing he’d ever felt coursing through him.

“For,” the Gonfaloniere said when everyone else had voted. “Lorenzo de Medici is acquitted.”

Francesco glanced upwards, whispering a quick prayer of thanks as noise erupted around him. Some booing, but mostly cheering. He looked over in time to see Jacopo stalking off, looking furious. Among the spectators, the Medici were weeping and hugging each other.

Francesco couldn’t even see Lorenzo at first, there were so many people crowding him to congratulate him. He elbowed his way through the throng until finally he was face-to-face with Lorenzo.

Lorenzo smiled at him, relief all over his face despite all his insistences the night before that he was at peace with his imminent death. Francesco longed to wrap his arms around him, to kiss him, to savor everything that had almost been taken from him. But instead he just smiled back, and he knew Lorenzo understood how he felt.

Between the rest of their family and all the other people who dropped by the house throughout the day to offer their congratulations, it wasn’t until nightfall that Francesco had a quiet moment alone with Lorenzo. Without another word he crossed the room and pulled Lorenzo into his arms, burying his face in his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent. Lorenzo hugged him back just as tightly, and for a long time they simply stood there holding each other.

There were tears in Francesco’s eyes when he finally drew back slightly to look at him, though he didn’t let go of him. “Don’t cry, my love,” Lorenzo said, smiling. “We won.”

“I thought I was going to lose you,” Francesco said.

“But you didn’t. You saved me.”

Francesco shook his head. “I hardly did anything, it was you who persuaded them in the end.”

“And who do you think persuaded _me?”_ Lorenzo said. “I was despairing, devoid of hope. I thought Florence had turned its back on me. I was ready to give up and let death take me. But it was you who made me see I had to keep fighting. You who made me see I still had something to live for. Because even if the whole city abandoned me, I’d still have you. And that’s enough.”

Francesco leaned in again and kissed him slowly, gently, deeply. “Now,” he said, “promise me you’ll never scare me like this again.”

Lorenzo laughed. “I’ll do my best.”


End file.
